


Dusk

by ennyousai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Not brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:36:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennyousai/pseuds/ennyousai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fox seemed to come out of nowhere.  One second he was staring ahead at the empty stretch of road, the next he was slamming on the brakes and swerving hard to avoid hitting the animal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> I thought canon did a pretty poor job of handling the kitsune mythology, so this is my take on it.
> 
> Sincere thanks to Delphi for the beta!

Dean found the job by accident. He was on his way from northern Minnesota to the Keewenau Peninsula to meet up with Dad, flush with victory after his first solo hunt, and had stopped in one of the tiny little tourist towns that were a dime a dozen up in northern Wisconsin. Most of them could claim at least one Mom and Pop restaurant that usually be counted on to have some decent pie, and Saint Germain was no exception. Dean had just settled in at the counter with his piece of cherry and a cup of black coffee, feeling at peace and content with the world and his place in it, when he happened to overhear a few words that had his Hunter-trained ears pricking right up. 

“ - three times this week,” said the big guy at Dean’s right elbow, reaching for his coffee. “Damn unnatural, if you ask me. I’ve been driving that stretch of road for over ten years now, and it’s as simple as can be. Goes through the woods sure, but it’s got no sharp turns or surprises. Nice and straight, no reason for anyone to just vanish like that.”

“Cops still haven’t found anything?” asked the man two seats over. 

“Not a thing.” Dean’s neighbor shrugged and dug into his plate of the meatloaf special. “They keep looking, but according to Sheriff Brown it’s a damn peculiar thing to investigate. No witnesses, and no sign of foul-play. Just an abandoned vehicle and no sign of the driver.”

And that _definitely_ sounded like Dean’s sort of weird. If the vehicles weren’t wrecked, it probably wasn’t a classic woman in white, but it could still be part of the same family of restless spirits. Worth looking into, for sure. Dean scraped up the last of his pie and flashed his best smile at the assembled truckers. “Hey there, fellas. I couldn’t help hearing what you were saying about people up and vanishing. Been a lot of that recently?”

There was a moment of silence as they all gave Dean a slow once-over. Dean kept his posture loose and relaxed. He wasn’t particularly worried that they’d see him as a threat - he knew that he didn’t look like some city-slicker, what with his battered leather jacket, steel-toed boots, and calloused hands - but it was never good to set yourself up as a presumptuous interloper. 

After a minute one of the truckers gave him a nod of acknowledgement, and the rest of them relaxed. “That’s right. Now why’s someone like you interested in that?”

Dean shrugged. “‘S funny. The same thing’s been happening not too far from my hometown. People just vanishing with no notice, only there’s no sign of a trouble or anything like that. That’s what makes it so strange, if you know what I’m saying.”

“I think I do.” The trucker - Bill, according the name tag pinned to his overall strap - gave Dean another considering look. “What’s your name, son, and where’d you say you’re from?”

“Dean, from Eagle River.” 

Bill nodded. “Right.” He slapped a twenty down on the counter and stood up. “All right then, Dean from Eagle River, how ‘bout you and I have a drink and talk? Unless two o’clock’s too early for your delicate sensibilities.”

Dean grinned. “Not at all.” He signaled the waitress for the check and got to his feet. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?”

Bill laughed. “Sure is.”

By the time Dean left the bar three hours later, full of good beer and rolling along on a pretty pleasant buzz, he had a few more tidbits of information to chew on. Bill wasn’t a hunter, but he’d seen enough weird things up in the Wisconsin woods that he had no problem telling Dean that he firmly believed something unnatural was haunting County Highway K. He was full of stories about skinchangers, werewolves, and hodags; and by the time they parted ways Dean was willing to bet they were dealing with some kind of animal spirit. Bill hadn’t mentioned any urban legends about murdered girls or vengeful husbands, but there were plenty of furred and clawed beasts that could fit the bill - and whatever it was, Dean was bound and determined to find it. 

* * *

The next evening found Dean driving down the narrow two-lane highway just when the last traces of daylight were fading into the mysterious half-light of dusk. It was one of the spirits’ favorite times, when the veil between worlds was thin and the light could play tricks on you; a time when it was easy to make mistakes and easy to get confused. Not Dean, though - he was a Hunter, and he knew what to look for. He wasn’t distracted by swaying tree branches or the sound of a white-tailed deer coughing in the distance. He had enough experience to know what was eerie but natural, and what was truly uncanny.

But no spirits wanted to show themselves to him. He’d been on the road for a good twenty minutes already, just him and his baby, and there was nothing out of the ordinary. He didn’t hear anything other than the wind in the trees, and didn’t see anything other than the occasional flash of a white tail as a deer bounded away from the road. Dean decided to give it another ten miles or so before throwing in the towel. Maybe he’d try again another night, but it looked like tonight was a bust. 

The fox seemed to come out of nowhere. One second he was staring ahead at the empty stretch of road, the next he was slamming on the brakes and swerving hard to avoid hitting the animal. The Impala came to a screeching, shuddering halt with just inches to spare. Dean held onto the steering wheel so tight the bones showed through the skin and focused on breathing, trying to get his heartbeat under control.

“Jesus,” he said. “Jesus fuck. _Fuck_.”

The fox hadn’t moved from the center of the road. It just stood there on the asphalt and regarded Dean through the windshield with tranquil hazel eyes. Dean stared back at it. He had to admit it was a beautiful beast, with its shaggy red-brown fur and regal bearing. He was glad he hadn’t killed it, although he sure as hell didn’t appreciate it wandering out in front of the car and almost killing _him_.

“Jesus,” he said again, and tapped once on the horn. “You mind getting out of the way, now?”

The fox stood still for another second, then tilted its head back and screamed, an unearthly wail that set Dean’s nerves jangling. He grit his teeth and forced his hands to relax on the wheel, keeping his eyes fixed on the fox as it paced slowly across the road toward the tree line. It was really a magnificent specimen. It was bigger than any other fox Dean had ever seen, with thick and lustrous reddish brown fur, and carried itself as gracefully as a dancer. Dean watched it all the way to the road’s edge, and then just as it was about to vanish into the underbrush...

Dean felt as cold as if a bucket of ice water had just been thrown on him. Because he could see now what he hadn’t gotten a clear sight of before: the fox had three tails. 

Dean got out of the car. His 1911 Colt was a reassuring weight at the small of his back, and he reached down to brush his fingers against before setting out for the trees. Three-tailed foxes were not something found in nature. That was a supernatural creature, and he was willing to bet the Impala that it was behind all the disappearances. 

It had to be put down.

He pushed his way through the trees, quickly losing sight of the road behind him. He fumbled blindly through the trees as the light started to fade more and more quickly, and the only way he knew he was going in the right directions was the occasion sound of the fox’s eerie keening. It was like the creature was urging Dean forward. Like it wanted Dean to find it. 

The trees thinned all of a sudden, opening into a clearing where Dean could look up and see the first stars glimmering in the night sky. It was a beautiful space, seemingly removed from the physical world, but Dean couldn’t take any time to appreciate it because the fox was there. The fox was there waiting for him, its eyes glittering with intelligence as the regarded him calmly, and Dean had to kill it.

He stepped forward and raised his gun. One shot right between those unnatural hazel eyes would do it. His finger tightened on the trigger, but before he could shoot he found himself looking not a fox, but a young man. He stood naked and unashamed, and when he stalked toward Dean he moved with the same easy grace as the animal.

_I have to kill it_ , thought Dean. Only he couldn’t bring himself to move - those eyes were hypnotic, dark and slightly slanted, and the intensity of their gaze kept him pinned in place. Dean could do nothing but stand there, frozen, as the man took Dean’s face between his hands and kissed him.

And oh, it was _good_. Dean hadn’t been kissed this way in a long time, like he was the most important thing in the universe and the other person needed him like they needed air. He couldn’t help but respond, parting his lips beneath the onslaught and letting his tongue twine with the stranger’s. Supernatural or not, the fox had _moves_ , and on some level Dean was lonely enough to respond to that. He let himself forget what he was supposed to be doing for just a second, and let his Colt slip from his limp fingers onto the ground as he reached up to cradle the creature’s face. 

But then the fox made a purring sound in the back of his throat, a purely animal sound that set Dean’s teeth on edge. He jerked back, stumbling over his feet, and stared at his otherworldly companion in horror. 

“Get away from me,” he gasped, bending down to reach for his gun. “Just...get away.”

The fox knelt and caught Dean’s hands. His skin was smooth and warm, and Dean felt his face grow warm with shame as he couldn’t help but wonder how those long, elegant fingers would feel on the rest of his body. Too long by himself, too much time on the road. He just wanted to be close to another warm body, that was all.

“It’s all right,” said the fox, and smiled. “I would never hurt you.” He gently pulled the gun out of Dean’s numb fingers and tossed it into the trees. Dean heard it land somewhere off in the distance. “You’re young, and strong, and I will give you a gift, if you’ll let me.” 

“A gift?” asked Dean, looking into the fox’s slanted eyes. They were deep and compelling, and even though Dean knew he should turn away, go for a knife, do what needed to be done - 

\- only he didn’t really want to. Because the fox was beautiful, and he touched Dean with more gentleness than anyone had for a long time, and there was a part of Dean that wanted so very much to just let go for a while.

Still, though. He was a Hunter, and this was his prey. “What about the others?” Dean managed to ask. “All those people who vanished - what were they to you, food?”

The fox shook his head and slid his fingers across Dean’s cheekbones. “That’s the way of nature. There are those who eat, and those who are eaten.” His fingers tightened suddenly, digging into the thin skin covering Dean’s skull. “Why don’t you tell me this, oh so noble Hunter: are you certain every person you’ve saved has been worth the effort? Or are you really just saving thieves and murderers and rapists?”

Dean swallowed hard. He’d asked Dad that, once, after they’d taken out a ghost of a girl who had been murdered by her own stepfather. She’d gone on to attack men who abused their children after her death, and Dean hadn’t really seen the harm in that at first. Monsters could be human, too, after all, and if someone wanted to take care of them, who cared? Dad had had opinions on that, though, and he’d wasted no time in setting Dean straight. 

_They get confused, Dean_ , he’d said, looking at Dean across the dug up grave with the smell of smoke and gasoline hovering between them. _Right now she might be killing bad men, sure. But give her another decade and she won’t know who she’s going after. She’ll be nothing but a killer, and I’d rather that we take of it sooner rather than later._

Dean had only been fourteen, but he’d gotten the point. They couldn’t make moral judgements when it came to who they were protecting - monsters were monsters, and that was all there was to it. Their responsibility was to the living, no matter what their state might be. 

But the fox’s eyes glinted slyly as he looked at Dean, like he knew exactly what Dean was thinking. “Just stop thinking,” he said, breath warm on Dean’s face, and leaned forward to cover Dean’s lips with his own.

And, god help him, Dean let go.

It was good, better than anything Dean’d had in a long time. The fox’s body felt good against his own, well-muscled and strong, and he was just a bit taller than Dean, which was something new. Something Dean liked, as it turned out - it was nice to be the one being wrapped safely in someone else’s arms for a change. Dean had never put much stock in celibacy, and he’d certainly had his fair share of sex over the years, but he’d never had anything this good before, never felt like every part of his was given over to nothing but sensation. There had always been some small part of him had always felt like he was the one responsible for making sure everyone was having a good time, or that he was giving a performance that he’d be scored on. Now, though - it was all too easy to just tilt his head back and let himself float, let the fox do whatever he wanted with Dean’s body. 

The fox was panting in his ear, his harsh breathing punctuated by high-pitched little yips. Animal sounds, but Dean didn’t really care. All he knew was that there was a beautiful creature that wanted to touch him, and wasn’t asking for anything in return, and it had been so long since he’d had something so uncomplicated...

Dean’s orgasm was easy and effortless. He arched up against his ethereal lover and came with a low sigh, muscles tensing and then relaxing. The fox churred in response, low and pleased, and tightened his arms around Dean. A few more thrusts and he went suddenly limp against Dean, heavy and solid.

“You’re sweet,” whispered the fox, placing little kitten licks against the skin of Dean’s neck. “So much sweeter than anyone else I’ve ever met.” He lifted his head just enough so that his wild, slanted eyes looked directly into Dean’s, and smiled. “I’ll look after you, Dean Winchester. You won’t have to be afraid ever again. That much I promise you.”

In the blink of an eye the handsome young man turned back into the fox, all sleek fur and bushy tails. It leaned down and poked at Dean with its cold nose, let out one last little _yip_ , then turned and vanished into the gathering gloom.

* * *

From that point on, Dean’s life gave every appearance of being charmed. When the other Hunters commented on how John Winchester’s boy seemed to have the Devil’s luck what with the way he always came out of any encounter unscathed, Dean would just shrug and say his Dad’s training was the best to be had. Dean was just a better shot than anyone else, that was all, and after a drink or two that seemed like as good an explanation as any.

Dean, though - he always figured it was more than his skill with a gun that kept him safe. Because although he never saw the fox in its human form again, every once in a while, just when the light started to change from daylight to dusk, he would catch a glimpse of three bushy tails out of the corner of his eye.


End file.
